anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

This is ourselves under pressure.

Arnaud cut his hair last weekend. When I saw it on Skype (why do I bother adding that it was on Skype? It's pretty obvious that Skype was the medium via which I saw him; even if it wasn't, who gives a shit what programme we used to communicate?) on Sunday, I told him, "Wow, I hope your hair grows back significantly when you're back in London; I don't want to look older than you."

He said, "Do I look young?"

I said, "You look 18."

He said, "Fuck you!"

He looked less like a kid yesterday. Maybe it was the result of some miracle hair gel or something. I found it pretty amusing that, before going to the barber, his hair pretty much surrendered to the Southeast Asian humidity. It was all sticking out everywhere and standing up and untamed in a manner that I'd never seen before. It was pretty cute, just like the rest of him.


I am genuinely taken aback and even somewhat disgusted by the massive degree to which I miss him. Yes, I feel like I'm too old for this and yes, this is a sympton of the disease called Being A Girl that now appears to be incurable. The vast disconnect between what I know and what I feel is incomprehensible to me sometimes; I cannot wrap my head around the mere idea that I can know intellectually something to be true, and yet have that completely disregarded by that part of me that governs my emotions and feelings...perhaps it's called a heart. I'm not really sure; I kind of lost touch with this side of me a while ago.

When I say things like that - that I lost touch with my feelings or I turned off my emotions blah blah - I don't say them facetiously, or melodramatically; I mean it. I genuinely mean it. For a while, the only thing I felt was physical pleasure (and stress due to exams) and I couldn't even intellectually grasp the idea of being in a relationship and committing myself to someone all over again, on the basis of some of the most unreliable things in the world - feelings. More specifically: my feelings. The obvious solution, then, was to simply not have any.

Then he happened. I wasn't even looking for a relationship; at that point, I was convinced that I wanted to date many different men at the same time and have all the non-sexual fun that I could have until I got bored. It's rather telling of my then-mindset that I didn't think it safe to assume that, after he kissed me, he was only seeing me and no one else. In fact, I felt it safer not to assume that he wasn't seeing other people at the same time too.

And yet - after he kissed me, I automatically foreclosed the possibility of seeing other people and cut out the other guys from my life in that way. My reaction was a sharp contrast to the way I behaved and felt after I went out with English Library Boy; I didn't go home grinning like a fool to myself, or sacrifice precious hours of sleep to write an entry about what just happened despite having to wake up in 3 hours' time to go to Berlin. ELB didn't make me not want to see other people.

I didn't know what I was doing at first, when I started going out with Arnaud. I didn't think about it at all; all I knew, really, was that he was cute and that I really liked kissing him and he made me laugh and that I wanted to see more of him despite having reservations about his age. The fact that I put aside those reservations speaks volumes about the extent to which he'd successfully charmed me. Hence, I just did it and went with the flow to see where it led, all the while aware of the possibility that it would lead nowhere, or that I would get bored, or that he would find me insufferable or boring or uninteresting and get bored, etc. The interesting thing is this: throughout the entire period of my 'seeing how it goes', I never once thought that it would lead this far because I simply didn't think I was capable of it anymore...until I found myself feeling like a normal human being again. In other words: I re-discovered the existence of my heart. Even more alarming: I realised that I was slowly making room for him in it.

That whole process, and then some, has led me to this point. 2.20am, 8 October 2013, sitting in my Edgware Road flat, thinking about our last conversation and how I was crying because I missed him despite knowing full well that two months aren't the rest of our lives, or the rest of this relationship. Of course, something triggered the eventual tears and added to the gloom that I felt when I woke up (on the wrong side of the bed*) in the morning: I asked him for his return date and he said, "23 December." I was under the impression that he would be back in the first week of December. It turned out that I had two extra weeks to spend on missing him and I was already missing him and it just added up and I lost it a little bit. Yet, throughout the entire process of losing it, with the preposterous tears and all, I knew how ridiculous I was being. The minute I separate my feelings from the situation, it suddenly appears to be no big deal. What is two months out of a year, two years, ten years, fifty years? What does it matter that he is away now when 1) he is definitely coming back; 2) he is definitely coming back in a reasonable time; and 3) when he comes back, he won't leave again (presumably at least)?

And that is exactly the problem. I can't separate my feelings from the situation. Or rather: I can't stay emotionally separate from the situation. Over the past few days, when I see our pictures or think about our trip or see him on Skype, I haven't been able to not think, "Why isn't he here? I wish he were here." When I saw his look of concern yesterday, I couldn't stop myself from feeling like I really wanted him with me, next to me; that I really, really, REALLY wanted to feel his arms around me. The consequence of this, and the fact that I am me, was that it made feel worse because it hit me again just how far away he is.

It seems like I'm not capable of some sort of a middle ground. I either feel nothing or I feel too much, and the minute I feel something and I acknowledge it and I don't try to get rid of it, that's it. It's all or nothing. I can't not miss, more accurately, I can't not miss him in this horrible sad, morose, depressing way that I have been missing him, this utterly unproductive and even sort of paralysing way. It's no more a wistful sadness or longing; it is an imposing ache, like a constant physical discomfort or pain that I can't do anything to ameliorate.

I am going on a solo trip to Rome on Sunday for four days. I have wanted to go to Rome since I was 14. I hope that the trip will shake some sense into me, or at the very least, take my mind off things. Not just Arnaud but everything that has been haunting me. I'm disoriented. The past week has not been kind to me. I need a break from my life. If only I could take a break from being myself.

(*Interestingly, I literally got out of bed on the wrong side - I got up from the right side instead of the left like I usually do.)


Wanted to buy a tennis skirt from Nike Town as retail therapy but it was out of stock, so I bought Burberry perfume - Burberry Brit. Now I'm not sure how much I like it. Maybe I'll return it. I wanted another Burberry but Debenhams didn't have it and I was feeling impulsive so I bought the Burberry Brit. Why the hell would I buy something that I don't like? I'm really stupid sometimes.


On another note, I found out that I got an internship with a human rights NGO here in London, and the first thought that popped into my head was this: "Wow, was I the only applicant?"


Lastly, I love Queen and David Bowie's Under Pressure. I am ashamed to say this but whenever I hear the opening riffs of the song, I always think it's Vanilla Ice's "Ice, Ice Baby"...more horrifically, I never knew that the riffs originated from Queen and David Bowie. I am an idiot.
Tags: arnaud, music, personal, relationships, shopping

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